


Every Planet We Reach Is Dead

by subtlemarathon



Category: Gorillaz, Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gen, Gorillaz x Left 4 Dead crossover, Infection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Survival Horror, Violence, Virus, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlemarathon/pseuds/subtlemarathon
Summary: The current virus had manifested into something way bigger than it should have been. This was more than just a virus.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 10





	Every Planet We Reach Is Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Gorillaz x Left 4 Dead crossover, so expect some mild to heavy violence/horror themes. The story is set in Phase 6 yet the Song Machine lore doesn't exist.

The corner of 2D's lips twitched with some sort of sick joy as the footage rolled on screen. The room shown was a stark white, mirroring the palette of a pristine hospital facility, and 2D could almost taste the chemicals on his tongue before it began to salivate with interest. His sight settled on the thick glass box centred at camera-level in the middle of the room, the angle almost too perfect as if these damned lab workers or whoever they claimed to be wanted the world to see their hideous workings, the glass reinforcing this and giving only the best view of their subject. 2D knew this of course; this was all a scare set-up that was almost too staged to actually be real, but it didn't stop him from believing and enjoying every little bit of it. Within this bare confinement stood _it_ , in all its gross glory, swaying slowly in place in some sort of intoxicated trance, oblivious to the white world it was trapped in. The second-hand footage was sharp and highlighted all the gory details 2D needed to see to take interest; its skin was falling apart, hanging thinly at the seams and dripping vile fluids from open rotting wounds, staining the perfect tiles with reds and horrid mucus-greens, and _oh_ how the eyes eventually settled on the camera as it turned; open dark sockets that pierced right into 2D's own, pausing for a moment as if it could see him beyond the screen. The raw red lines surrounding the brows and hollow cheeks indicated those eyes were missing due to its own design, perhaps a horrible feeling of overwhelming stress and pain within itself that it wanted gone, if it could even feel those at all. If 2D were there with it, he may have even felt some twisted connection as black open sockets locked with his own empty glare. Yet only a second later the humanoid creature - 2D, and anyone else sat at home watching, had been made fully aware that this _was_ a human, or at least _used_ to be, because whatever this was certainly lacked morals and our own complex intelligence - screeched a deafening wail only stopped by a gargle of bloody fluids, and then it charged, running head first into the thick glass wall closest to the camera, staggering back a little, but that didn't stop it from trying again and again and again relentlessly. The white-coated doctors came into frame, done with their little horror-show, scurrying and shouting commands at each other that 2D couldn't quite focus on, he could only stare intently as it pounded, clawed, spit, screamed at the glass in a pitiful attempt to break through. The light dimmed a little, a poor attempt at hiding what they didn't want the audience to see, until the footage cut out entirely.

Becky, that busty news anchor Murdoc liked, appeared back on screen again, looking paler than usual. The reds and blues of the news set-up seemed a lot brighter, though that could have just been 2D's poor sight refusing to differentiate that white room from this one, tainting it, a constant reminder.

_"_ _This footage was sent from CEDA's testing facility here in London, and what you all just saw was a glimpse of their research regarding the current 'sickness' caused by the virus in the past four months. So far, there have been over 80,000 cases reported across the UK that we know of which have all been referred to CEDA, who have taken these people into their facilities across the country in an attempt to study the progress of the new symptoms caused by the virus. According to CEDA's minister located in the CEDA headquarters in the USA, quote "The worldwide pandemic caused by the virus has awakened a new scientific discovery that our organisation has taken into account in an attempt to research and prevent a worse crisis. What we have found as of now is remarkable; those who have developed these new foreign symptoms across the world have been taken in by our organisation for testing. The new abilities of this ever-developing virus have shown us that it can completely eradicate the work of the body's white blood cells, morphing them into a new disease-like infection that is carried throughout the bloodstream around the body until reaching the brain, where it will then begin to completely take control over our mind and body until it shuts down. The body begins to decay and deteriorate, however, remains very much alive and functioning. The virus sends our brain into a hyperactive state, resulting in some of the footage you may have seen circulating around as of lately. We do not aim to frighten you, people, only make you aware of what is happening. Stay safe, and God bless", end quote. As you can see, the virus develops some kind of bodily mutation that kills brain activity and takes control over our body. This is an incredibly scary and difficult time, and we of course plead you to stay safe and report any suspicious behaviour or symptoms in your local area. Remember, common symptoms such as coughing, sneezing, and shivering should be reported to your local NHS clinic, while more serious symptoms including blood in vomit, unprovoked malnourishment or weight loss, or sudden skin infections or black skin rot should be reported directly to CEDA-"_

Becky's solemn warnings were cut off as the channel flicked to the next news station, which unsurprisingly talked of similar themes. 2D whipped around to see Murdoc lounging on the sofa behind him, head in his hand as well as the remote, looking as bored as ever at the screen. "Do any of 'em ever stop going on about all this rubbish?" Noodle clicked her tongue, looking up from her phone at the bassist. "Have some empathy, Murdoc, this is serious. 私たちの一人がそれを手に入れたらどうしますか？" Murdoc rolled his eyes, huffing. "No idea what you just said, love, but come on, this is all just a public scare to keep us all indoors and stop idiots doing stupid shit." Noodle shook her head in distaste, looking back to her phone, intrigued by the amount of mass news this new discovery had sparked. It interested her to no end. "Besides," Murdoc started, standing and wandering over to the connected kitchen, "I think ol' Dents 'ere was popping a stiffy at the sight of all this zombie-talk, eh?". 2D snapped his head towards the older man, squeaking out some sort of protest of how they "weren't zombies" before being silenced by the rumble of the coffee machine. The bassist momentarily pulled his warm brew from the machine, scrounging the cabinets for his extra sugar stashes. He scooped the grainy sugar into the brew teaspoon after teaspoon - he really did have a sweet-tooth - before hitting the bottom of the sugar packet after his fifth spoonful. He gawked, screeching a "we only bought this however-long-ago!". Russel, who had remained a silent figure at the kitchen table the whole ordeal, finally looked up from his laptop - they really had been engrossed by the new media - flickering his eyes from the empty packet of sugar (that was meant for _all_ of them) and the almost heartbroken face of their bassist as he stared into said empty packet of sugar. "Damn it, Murdoc, you need to lay off all our shit, man. We can't be wasting all our food in one go, we talked about this for god's sake!"

2D was again invested in the TV, paying no mind to the bickering across the room while Noodle put her phone to the side, sighing. It was all overwhelming; the band, the virus, the quarantine. It wasn't like they had never faced the undead before, certainly not, they had come across all kinds of creatures and supernatural entities in the past, but that was just with them, and only them. This was a worldwide phenomenon, way beyond their control. Yes, perhaps the media and CEDA were exaggerating this, that zombie or mutant or whatever they had just watched could have easily been fake just to scare the people into submission, but she did still have an inkling of a feeling in her chest that this wasn't just a political hoax. People were going missing, she knew that much. CEDA was patrolling cities and taking more and more people in for testing. The streets were empty, there were no cars or public transport in use, all stores and malls had been closed down; the world was becoming a ghost town within itself. They hadn't heard from Jamie or Damon or their neighbours or anyone they knew outside Kong in months. One of the four, usually herself, would travel across the neighbourhood to their resource-bank; a CEDA-operated bank for residents to collect necessities including food, water, and other household products they needed to survive. The CEDA guards and bank-cashier were the only human contact she had besides her band members, and she found that awfully worrying. "Ey, Noodle, be a dear and go fetch me- er, _us_ , some more sugar." Murdoc smiled as nicely as he could, looking more perversely menacing if anything, and the girl sighed, "罰金 ", reluctantly standing from her warm space and stepping over 2D's gangly outstretched legs towards the corridor.

Exiting the studio, Noodle double-checked she had all she needed; keys, wallet with Murdoc's credit card, hand sanitizer, and she was already wearing her facemask and gloves, shoving her hands in her coat pockets to prevent the crisp chill of autumn biting at her through the fabric. It was approaching mid-evening and the dark was setting in a lot quicker again. Despite the circumstances, it was peaceful. There were no troublemakers stalking the streets of London in the late hours, nor the drone of London traffic where people where rushing home from work, just quiet, peace and quiet. 

Her feet subconsciously lead her to the resource-bank across town, having done this plenty of times before in the past months, and she was soon closing in on the large white tent filling out the space of a now pretty much historic supermarket parking lot. She paused, however, noticing the lack of guards at the entrance. There were usually two; these two young American CEDA men who'd ask you to wait patiently if there were other shoppers and would give you a spray down before entering the tent. Yet tonight, there was no one. Just the ominous black opening of the tent which now was looking more like the mouth of the devil. Maybe they were closed today, as unlikely as it was, yet that was one of the only logical excuses she could think of because in that moment, that weight in her chest was weighing her down even more. She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly. Yet the black behind her eyelids only created a gateway that rendered images of that vile creature, the one with the clawed-out eyes, the peeling skin, those sickening screams as it scratched at its confinements with murderous intent, tracking the movements of the hurried doctors. Gasping slightly at her own morbid mind-manipulations, she shivered, stepping into the dark of the tent into the spraying-area in an attempt to prove to herself that it _wasn't real_. Murdoc was right, she secretly wanted to believe that bitter old man was right and this was all bullshit. The virus couldn't do that to someone, of course not. She took to spraying herself down, she knew how, and reached for the plastic curtain leading into the bank itself. The bank had a certain glow to it, being lit up by yellow-hued practical lights and aisles of items make-shifted into something that resembled a store with shelves and tables and whatnot. She appeared to be alone in the bank, no other customers from what she could make out which she was thankful for. She was already sure she'd broken the rules already by just entering without the guards' permission and now as she approached the baking aisle she realised she should have just left for home and told Murdoc to stick it.

Grabbing the first sugar pack she saw, she made for the bank-front to the thin plastic pane separating the customers to the cashier, Stephen(?) she thought was his name; a tall, greasy, and punky looking man with a real heavy rasp in his voice from years of smoking, she knew that sound too well, who didn't look like he was being paid enough for this but was nice enough despite everything. She placed the sugar pack in the designated product area, leaning on the counter, noting again, there was a lack of staff. Stephen, too, appeared not to be present this evening. Even the peace and quiet she had previously appreciated had become a significantly loud noise and it became irritatingly agonizing to listen to. She was about to make her leave before her super-soldier and musically trained ear picked up a muted shuffling in the back space behind the counter, a makeshift break room. She held her breath, leaning towards the plastic pane as if it would make a difference. And there it was again, heavy steps that dragged across the concrete of the parking lot floor, muffled, yet audible. "Er, Stephen?" Noodle called out, pushing back the horrid imagery of the creature from the CEDA news story again, because like Murdoc said, it wasn't real. With soft steps, she manoeuvred to the small gate at one end of the counter, slipping it open and making her way behind. She almost, _almost_ faltered at the sharp sound of a wooden chair being quickly scraped across the ground, because her training taught her to be better than that, and she held her breath again, focusing in on all noise there was, including the silence.

Approaching the entrance to the break room, she shifted her mask slightly in an attempt to ease her anxious breathing before catching the scent of something horrifically _awful._ A thick, overwhelming, and almost _hot_ smell, something she could taste at the back of her throat and she moved the crook of her arm to her face to stop her need to gag, she refused. It made her more sick knowing exactly the only thing that coppery smell could be, and there were limited situations there could be where it could be just that strong. With one arm over her mouth for her own sake, her other reached out for the plastic curtain, preparing herself for whatever was awaiting her on the other side, quivering fingers grasping at the edge and in one swift motion, she pulled it back, and her arm was suddenly useless in blocking out the stench and she openly let out ugly and strained heaves against her mask. Their legs were the first thing she noticed. Shredded muscle tendons strung out like delicate thread, a contrast against the black of the guard outfits. The bodies, or whatever was left of them, had been mutilated into an hourglass shape as if a boa constrictor had squeezed all life from them, the pressure of whatever it was completely abolishing the guards' torsos and faces, leaving them burst open like a freshly exploded water balloon, painting the entire room in an almost beautiful red. It looked more like black in the dark corners of the room, however. Shaking like a little autumn leaf in the wind, Noodle snatched the mask from her face, and vomited. And vomited, and vomited, and vomited until she felt nothing inside herself that she thought could come out except it did, and she was left hunched and lurching forward with each gargled heave, in that moment she thought her guts would come out and join the guards' on the floor among the sea of red and the icky yellow of her own bile.

Over her own spitting and coughing at the end of her fit, she almost didn't register the even worse coughing at the other end of the room. It was heavy and dry and sounded like whoever it was was choking on their own tongue. Fatigued, she slowly turned on her heel, and she _wished_ she had puked up her guts and died. For there _it_ was. Or at least, some morbid and somehow even _worse_ version of the one the world had seen only earlier that evening. Its eye, as there was only just one visible, rolled forward, looking unattached and loose in the socket like a golf ball in its hole, and it gleamed mindlessly at the wrecked Noodle, silently watching. Its other eye may as well have been obliterated, as it remained hidden in the depths of full and thick bloated tumours, countless of them bubbling up and overlapping each other down its face, its neck, its arms; a bumpy trail of pus bubbles across its tall looming frame.The torn green jacket and greasy black locks falling over its face was enough to indicate the mutilator of the helpless American guards. In that moment, no amount of her special training could help her accumulate a perfect strategy to save herself. Her green eyes remained stapled wide, shiny lips parted, letting out little loose whimpers of ever-increasing fear. Her body let her do absolutely nothing as she watched Stephen- no, this wasn't Stephen, not anymore, that man was gone, mutated, transformed into this hideous beast of a human- unhinge its jaw ever so slightly, and let its thick tentacle-like tongue fall from his lips, down further, and further, the fleshy muscle dangling and stretching out at an ungodly length until it hung down, just about reaching its waistline, the creature retching and choking all the way as the muscle itself pulsed, moving like a limb of its own. And for the first time in years, Noodle screamed. The tongue darted out at an incredible speed towards her, and she had just enough tactical advantage to shut up and move, yet slip pathetically on the shimmering red, and she fell front first onto the concrete, getting a body and face full of coppery gore. She saw the tongue retract back, the creature moving heavily towards her and heaving in, preparing to shoot at her once more.

The adrenaline in her veins kicked in and she hopped to her feet, more mindful of the obstacles of blood, bodies, and shitty furniture, and ran. With feline speed and agility, she slipped out the room, hopping the counter gate, forgetting the sugar she had left at the cash register, and made for the exit. The cold air whipping through her tousled black locks was enough of a reminder she was alive, red blood smeared down her front glistening black in the now star-lit sky. She didn't feel the pain in her legs, or her stomach, or her side, or her head, only the feeling of the air as she ran. She was tired, God she was tired, but she couldn't find it in herself to stop for even a second. The flat blocks of West London were nothing but black masses as her lace-up boots carried her in the way she recognised was the way home. And there it was, the neon orange sign reading 'Kong' at the end of the street. She darted up the stairs of the studio building, forgetting the elevator, and made her way to the housing section where the band members lived. She barely recognised her own hyperventilating cries as she pounded the door, too shaky to grasp her own keys, and the door swung open, yet she was unable to even acknowledge her saviour as she plummeted into the black abyss of the unconscious. 


End file.
